Chapter Twenty-Four
Pepper
Clay wasn’t kidding when he said he’d researched places to go today. Our first potential hobby is bowling, and it’s bustling with children’s birthday parties and rowdy kids running to and from the snack counter, giggling and shouting. I didn’t even realize there was a bowling alley here.
We scarf down hot dogs and nachos, and as we put on bowling shoes, I’m still reeling from our trip to the craft store. We had a blast taking separate carts and gathering supplies, trying to keep our design ideas secret. But my competitive man didn’t play fair. He cornered me in the packing material aisle, smelling good enough to eat, talking dirty, and kissing me until my knees weakened and my ability to think wavered. I was this close to divulging my plans for my boat, but I held firm and pried myself out of his arms.
Clay is lucky. All he has to do is pull down the shirt he has on under his hoodie to cover his erection, while I’m stuck walking around with damp panties.
Damn him .
I have to admit, I love his taunts and the way he appreciates my intelligence and brings out my inner sexual being. I didn’t know that was possible. In my experience, if I was seen as a sexual being, my intelligence went unnoticed, and vice versa. I’m starting to realize I’d drawn a hard line between the two, but Clay makes me feel whole and appreciated on both levels. What’s even more amazing is that he noticed my competitive nature, when I thought I’d hidden it so well. Nobody has ever taken note of it except Ravi, and he only sees it in regard to my work. My family thinks I did well in school because that’s who I am.
The truth is so much more complicated.
Now that the competitive cat is out of the bag, there’s no need to downplay it. I finish putting on my shoes and pop to my feet. “Prepare to lose, Braden.”
“I thought you said you haven’t bowled since you were a kid.”
“I haven’t, but I’m still going to beat you.”
“We’ll see about that.” He pushes to his feet, looking even more rugged with his shaggy scruff and baseball cap. I’ve never been into scruffy guys, but I have a feeling Clay could grow a thick and wild beard and a beer belly and I’d still find him impossibly hot. His quick wit, thoughtfulness, and intelligence don’t rely on his looks. Of course, his charming dimples and piercing blue eyes don’t hurt.
He puts a hand on my back, drawing me from my thoughts as he leans in and says, “Keep looking at me like that, and these little kids are going to see things they shouldn’t.”
The innocent faces of the little girls playing in the next lane should be enough of a reason for me to give him grief for even saying something like that. But the truth is, I love the way he sees my hidden thoughts and the way he wants me even at inappropriate times. Not only do I refrain from giving him a hard time, but I also can’t stop the grin from tugging at my lips.
Oh God. I’m turning into Brindle.
“What’s that grin for, Reckless?” He smirks. “Thinking about all the fun things I could do to you?”
I school my expression. “You might want to get your mind out of the gutter so your balls don’t end up there.”
“It’s nice to know you’re thinking about my balls.” He pats my butt. “You’re up first.”
He sits down and types our names into the machine that keeps score—Reckless and Winner.
I choose my ball, and it takes a minute for me to remember proper positioning.
“Come on, Pep. You’ve got this,” Clay cheers.
I take a deep breath, tuning out the din of the other players, the crashing of pins, and the rumbling of balls. I set my eyes on the center of the lane as I swing my arms back, step forward, and release the ball. It rolls straight down the middle of the lane, knocking over nine pins. Clay cheers, and the little girls beside us clap. I smile at them as I turn around.
“Are you sure you haven’t played since you were a kid?” Clay asks as I pick up another ball.
“ Yes . I didn’t get a strike, did I?” I say matter-of-factly.
He looks at me incredulously. “Did you play me, Pep? Were you in a league?”
“No. I didn’t like going to parties, so I’d go bowling with Ravi and some of our friends from Science Club.” As I line up for my next shot, I notice the little blond girl next to me is trying to mimic my stance. “Hey,” I say gently, bringing her eyes to mine. “The ball will go in whatever direction your thumb is pointing when you let go, but don’t tell him that.” I motion with my head to Clay.
The little girl giggles. “I won’t. Thank you.”
“Good luck.” I wait for her to take her turn.
She knocks down four pins.
“Good job! That was awesome,” I exclaim.
She beams at me as the other girls and the woman who’s with them cheer her on.
I get myself situated again and take my turn, knocking down the last pin. Clay and all the little girls cheer. Now I’m the one who’s beaming as I come off the lane.
“That’s my girl,” Clay says as he rises to his feet. “It’s a shame I’ll have to beat you.” He grabs a ball and lines up. He looks so serious as he releases the ball. It starts rolling straight but veers left just before reaching the pins, knocking down five of them.
“That was great,” I cheer.
“I’m just getting warmed up.” He rubs his hands together and grabs another ball.
“It’s okay. I kind of like you not so perfect.”
“Don’t get your hopes up, Reckless.”
A brown-haired girl with pigtails is getting ready to take her turn beside us, and the blond girl is whispering in her ear. The brown-haired girl looks at Clay and says, “I won’t,” to her friend. The three other little girls run to the blonde, begging to know the secret she shared.
Clay looks at me with a knowing smile and winks.
As we play, we have good turns and bad turns. We laugh with the girls, cheering on each other and them, and learn it’s the blond girl’s seventh birthday. After I win the game, receiving cheers from the girls and accolades from Clay, he buys them each an ice cream, and they all hug us goodbye.
“That was so much fun,” I say as we drive out of the parking lot.
He reaches over and takes my hand. “I have a feeling anything we do together will be fun, my sporty girl.”
“Bowling is hardly sporty.”
“Don’t fool yourself, Sporty Spice. It takes strength and skill.” He kisses the back of my hand. “Are you ready for our next adventure?”
“I can’t wait.”
We work our way through Clay’s list of potential hobbies. We try miniature golf and Frisbee. I royally suck at both, while he plays like a champ, but it was fun. While we’re at the park, he points to birds flying overhead and suggests birdwatching. We share a good laugh. Neither of us can imagine staring at birds for hours at a time. We end up at Paint and Sip, where we sit across from each other drinking wine while attempting to paint a vase of colorful flowers.
“How’s it coming? Are you the next van Gogh?” Clay asks as I put more paint on my brush.
“I’m not going to win any painting contests, and I’m having flashbacks to almost getting a B in art class, but I am having fun.”
“You say B like it’s a bad thing.”
“It was for me. I needed an A.” I start painting the last flower petals. “I begged my teacher to let me redo the project, and I worked my butt off until it was perfect.”
“What was the project?”
“To create a three-dimensional image using words as art. We couldn’t draw lines. Everything had to be created using only words. Everyone else made these beautiful pictures of their pets and barns and landscapes and all sorts of things. I kept trying to draw something pretty the way everyone else did, but my brain doesn’t work with soft, flowing images. When I redid the project, I had the hardest time visualizing anything so I could draw it. Then my dad found me crying, and he told me a B was good enough, but I knew I wouldn’t make valedictorian without an A.”
“And you think I’m competitive?” He arches a brow. “So what did you do?”
“I listened to my father.” I dab my paintbrush in paint to put the finishing touches on my painting. “He said not to worry about drawing something pretty and to draw whatever I wanted to, even if I didn’t think anyone else would like it.”
“Dad to the rescue. What did you draw?”
“The lab he made me in the loft. It made me happy, and I didn’t have to compare a dog or landscape to anyone else’s drawing, because nobody else drew my lab.”
“How’d it come out?”
“It was pretty spectacular, if I do say so myself. I got an A, but more importantly, I learned a valuable lesson about not comparing myself to other people. That lab made me happy, and I’m sure that’s why I was able to draw it so well using words. I went from dreading the drawing to creating tangles of wires from the word wire written over and over, and fitting all the letters of microscope into the drawing of one.” I set down my paintbrush. “But this is not going to get me an A.” I hold up my painting.
“What are you talking about? That’s fantastic. I’m framing that sucker and putting it up on my wall.”
“Yeah, right.” I set it back down. “Let me see yours.”
“Okay, but it’s not nearly as good as yours.”
He holds up his painting, and my jaw drops. He painted me , and it’s really good. In it, I’m smiling, and it looks like my eyes are, too. My hair is tousled, and it cascades over my shoulders in several shades of golden brown that look just like my real hair, right down to my natural blond highlights.
“ Clay , you’re really talented, but you were supposed to paint the flowers.”
“I painted what makes me happy.”
I get all warm and squishy inside. “Where did you learn to paint like that?”
“My mom taught me. I think it was out of necessity.”
“Why?”
“She said I used to wake Noah from his naps because I was too rambunctious, and she figured out early on that if I had a project that took a lot of focus, I’d stick with it until I nailed it.”
“That’s another thing we have in common.”
“Sure is. When Noah went down for a nap, that became my painting time. She’d set up pictures of football fields, football games, the players, and I’d paint them.”
“It’s amazing that you can still do it so well.”
“I never stopped. When I can’t sleep, it’s my fallback to get my brain to settle down.”
“How come you didn’t mention it as a hobby when I asked if you were crafty?”
He shrugs. “I don’t consider it a hobby. It’s more of a vice.”
“That’s one heck of a vice.” I walk over to admire his painting. “Can I have that painting?”
“It’ll cost you.” He pulls me into a kiss. His phone chimes, and he pulls it out of his pocket, glancing at the screen. “It’s Seth. I was on the phone with him asking for pointers for writing your ad when you came out to the lobby last night. I forgot to call him back.”
“You called your brother for help with my ad?”
“Yes. I wanted to write the best ad I could, and he’s an expert at hiring people.”
My chest warms at that. “You did that for me? That’s so sweet.”
“I’d do anything for you.” He reads the text, then turns the phone toward me.
I’m still hung up on what he said, but I force myself to focus and read his brother’s text.
Seth: Still need help with that ad, or did Pepper realize you can barely spell your own name?
“What? Give me that.” I take his phone and thumb out, Hi Seth, this is Pepper. Not only is Clay smart, but look what he painted. I take a picture of Clay’s painting and send it with the message. Clay’s phone chimes a minute later.
Seth: How much did he pay you to say he’s smart?
Clay chuckles.
I think about how Sable would respond and quickly thumb out a response.
Me: He doesn’t pay me, but I’m sure he’ll thank me later.
I send a winking emoji, and my heart races as his response rolls in.
Seth: You should ask for money. I’m sure it will last longer.
I’m so far out of my league, my head is spinning. I shove the phone into Clay’s hand. “You’d better take this. I was trying to be coy, but I’m not good at that. I haven’t even met him yet. What’s he going to think of me?”
“He’s going to adore you as much as I do.” Clay reads the texts and responds.
Clay: Stop flirting with my girl .
“I don’t give a damn what he thinks. Seeing you stick up for me like that turns me on.” He pulls me into a hard kiss.
“In that case, give me your phone. I have more to say.”
“There’s my naughty temptress.”
As he lowers his lips to mine, I notice the person who works there watching us and say, “Behave. We have an audience.”
He lets out a frustrated growl, and we quickly clean up and leave with our paintings in hand, kissing as we hurry out to the Rover. We put the paintings on the back seat, and Clay pins me against the side of the vehicle, taking me in a ravenous kiss that makes my every nerve ending flame. His hardness is deliciously tempting, and his scruff tickles my skin, making me crave it between my legs. I almost forget we’re in the middle of a parking lot.
I’m stuck in a mental tug-of-war, wanting more and knowing I should step back to keep from becoming an even bigger spectacle. Before I can gather the strength to break the kiss, he does it for me, and our eyes lock. The desire and restraint warring in his nearly unravel me.
“I think we found a hobby we both enjoy,” he says.
I laugh softly, clutching his sweatshirt, telling myself to let go. But the desire burning in his eyes has me throwing caution to the wind and leaning in for more.
“Not here, sweetheart,” he grits out. “You have a reputation to uphold, and I’m not about to spoil it.”
“Right. Of course,” I stammer, grateful one of us is thinking straight.
We stop on the way home to buy a gaming system and pizza because Clay is dead set on teaching me to play the video game in which he is a character, and we are both hungry. We start a fire in the fireplace, put a blanket and pillows on the floor, and eat the pizza in front of the fire. Then he teaches me how to play the video game.
Or rather, he tries to teach me how to play.
We’ve been playing for half an hour and laughing our butts off, because I am every bit as bad as I told him I would be. There are a million things to remember, and it’s too much to keep track of.
“Throw the ball,” he says ever so helpfully as his player rushes my quarterback.
“I’m trying!” I feverishly push the buttons. “Stop running at my guy!”
“That’s how you play the game.”
His player sacks my quarterback, and I yell, “Nooo!” He cracks up, and I throw a pillow at him. “This is so hard.”
“You’re doing great.”
I roll my eyes. “I am not .”
“I’ll tell you what. I’ll throw in some incentives. We’ll play touchdowns for clothing. Every time one of us gets a touchdown, the other one has to take something off.”
“That’s hardly fair. I’ve gotten one touchdown to your five.”
“Okay. I’ll make it easier.” He stands up and whips off his sweatshirt and the T-shirt he has on beneath it.
“What are you doing?” My gaze skids down his chest to the hard planes of his abdomen as he unbuttons his jeans and pushes them down.
“Making it fair.” He tugs off his jeans and socks and sits down in his boxer briefs.
“ How is this fair? You know I can’t think beyond you sitting there practically naked.” I hook my finger in the neckline of my sweater, pulling it away from my skin.
“What’s the matter, Pep? A little hot?”
“If I were sitting here in my underwear, you wouldn’t be able to concentrate, either.” After I say it, understanding hits me. “That’s exactly what you want me to do, isn’t it? Well, you’re out of luck, buddy.”
He laughs and holds his hands up in surrender. “I’m just trying to make it fair. Now you only have to get one touchdown to win the game.”
I narrow my eyes. “You’d love that, wouldn’t you?”
“Is that a trick question?” He flashes a wolfish grin but quickly wipes it away. “Get your head in the game, Montgomery. This is your chance to score.”
I raise my brows.
“In the game . Geez, one-track mind much?”
“It’s your fault. You turned me into some kind of sex maniac.”
“Maybe it’s the other way around,” he says with a ridiculously serious expression.
“I don’t think so.” I try to concentrate as we start playing, and I’m determined to win because… Clay naked? Yes, please. My player chases his down the field.
“The truth is, I’ve never been unable to keep my hands or my mouth off a woman the way I can’t with you.”
So much for my concentration. My guy tackles his runner, and I cheer. “Yes!”
“You got me sidetracked thinking about touching you.”
“Stop talking about it,” I say as my player chases his down the field, but his guy cuts to the right, and I can’t catch up as he sprints into the end zone.
“Yeah, baby!” Clay pumps his fist and looks smugly at me. “That’ll be one article of clothing, please.”
I take off my sweater and throw it at him, leaving me in my bra and leggings.
He catches my sweater. “I prefer your panties, but this is a start.”
“Get your head in the game, Braden. I’m about to obliterate you.”
“We’ll see about that.”
I hike the ball, and my quarterback throws it to a runner, who catches it. “Yes!” I make my runner sprint down the field, blowing past Clay’s guys. “I’m doing it!” One of his players dives for my guy, and I dart around him. “Ha ha! No way, sucker!” My player runs around another of his, and Clay’s guys chase mine down the field, right into the end zone. I jump to my feet, wiggling my hips and pumping my fists in a victory dance, cheering, “Yes! Touchdown! I did it! I did it! ” I look over at Clay just as he drops his drawers.
“Looks like we’re both gonna score.” He tackles me to the pillows, both of us cracking up.
“You let me win!”
“I’m no fool.” He kisses my smiling lips, and we both laugh.
I look up at the man who’s changing my world faster than I can process, opening my eyes to a happier life. And a big, new love whispers through my mind. I trap my lower lip between my teeth, trying to keep that thought in.
“What?” he asks.
I gaze into his gorgeous blue eyes, and another truth comes out. “I’ve lived in Charlottesville for years and have never done any of the things we did today.”
“See? You need me in your life.”
I don’t know about need, but I want him in it. Every time we’re together, I feel closer to him than I did the time before. Heck, than the hour before. I feel stupid for running from him for so long, when we could have been together all that time. I want to tell him how I feel. The words are right there on the tip of my tongue, vying for release. I’m afraid to bare my heart like that. But I don’t know how long he’s staying, and I’m more afraid that he’ll leave town without ever really knowing how I feel. I scramble for a middle ground, a comfort zone outside my own but close enough to race back if need be. One without kind of or might .
My heart races, and butterflies swarm in my belly as I reach up and touch his cheek, needing the surety of him, as I gather the courage to reveal my heart. He’s gazing so deeply into my eyes, I’m pretty sure he can read my thoughts as I say, “I really like you.”
His smile broadens. “I really like you, too, Reckless.”
My hand slides around to his neck as he lowers his lips to mine, and I give myself over to the emotions winding around us like a bow, binding us together, as the rest of the world falls away.